


First Light of Winter

by TigerOfSummer



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cousin Incest, F/M, Sibling Incest, Smut, but not really siblings, mention of rape, smut with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6882076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerOfSummer/pseuds/TigerOfSummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up where TV-show canon left off after Sansa first appears at Castle Black. Sansa and Jon decide to take back Winterfell, but fall into something unexpected along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Light of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure depravity. You've been warned.

The gates had groaned and creaked when they opened to Castle Black. Gloved, cold hands clung to the reigns of her mount as Sansa led her horse within, heart beginning to race in her chest. Where before her mind was filled with thoughts about how she would be received, now there was only silence as she followed Brienne and Pod into the courtyard.

Strangers’ faces gathered into the yard, cloaked in heavy black furs, as befit the Night’s Watch. They were all bearded and dirty and frightening. Her eyes jumped from one to another, searching for familiarity. _For him._ One of them approached her mount, a young man with gaunt features. “Mi’lady,” he said, reaching out a hand to guide her off of her horse. He was staring at her as though he had never before seen a woman. They all were. It gave her a feeling of unease.

Leather boots touched the soft snow of the yard and she let go of the man’s hand. Then she felt it. Just over her shoulder.

_Jon…_

The look that crossed his features was heartbreaking. He did not look the way she had remembered. Yes, he had the same kind, soft eyes, but his black curls were pulled back at the nape, and his beard was fuller, his chest broader. A man, now. Sansa felt her heart swell. He did not waste a moment longer before rushing to her, capturing her in his arms before she knew what had overcome her. 

He was strong, she found. They had rarely ever embraced one another, when they were children. But now they clung to each other for dear life, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, his wrapped around her waist and suddenly her feet were off of the ground and she was spinning and she felt so _light_. She felt… _happy._

“Sansa,” he breathed, almost laughed into her hair.

“Jon,” she replied, a smile on her lips. She nuzzled his neck, kissed his cheek. His beard tickled her lips but she found she did not care.

She did not want him to let her down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was not long before she was finally bathed and feeling human again. Days spent in the wilderness had left their mark on her, the water turning brown with filth in the tub. The men serving her took care to give her as much privacy as she needed, but she did not forget where many of them had come from. Why they were here. Regardless of this she felt safer than she ever was in Winterfell, away from Ramsay and close to her brother.

Thinking of Jon awaiting her in the dining hall only hastened her desire to get out of the quarters they had allotted her and go to him. The gown and cloak she had worn in her journey was being washed, but Jon had the men procure for her another, more plain gown left behind by a spearwife, as he had called her. It was made of rough, scratchy wool and hugged a bit tightly around her chest but Sansa was grateful for it nevertheless. 

Her quarter was furnished with a mirror, a luxury at the wall. She looked at herself now, pulling her auburn hair into a braid along her shoulder. A simple style for a highborn maid without a handmaiden to tend to her. In the mirror, her own face was different to her now. She sensed something alive in the girl, something that hadn’t been alive in a long while. 

A knock came to her door then. She found her first instinct was to flinch. Still, so far way from him now, she felt his menacing presence. _He’s not here,_ she reminded herself, going to unlatch the door.

Jon stood before her in the corridor. “Sis,” he said, a soft smirk coming to his lips. Sansa almost hugged him again. She could not contain the grin that was her response, all thoughts of her torment suddenly dissipating. 

“Have you come to escort me to supper, my lord?”

“Lord no longer,” he sighed, stepping into her chamber. He scanned the bedchamber. “Have you found these quarters to your liking? I had them give you my own bedchamber. It’s not much but it’s the finest one we’ve got.”

“It’s just perfect,” Sansa reassured, resting a hand on his arm. “Thank you, brother.” Truthfully, Sansa would be happy to sleep in a stable as long as she was as far away from Ramsay as possible. “The Lord Commander’s quarters are more than I could have hoped for. But where will you sleep?”

He looked at her then. “Don’t worry about me, sis.” He smirked again. “Right then, on to supper. Get your cloak.”

Sansa went to pick up the old cloak that was laid out for her on the large featherbed, but another hand snatched it before she could.

“Rubbish,” he said under his breath. “Really Edd should have found you something better.” Suddenly his hands were at the clasps at his neck, pulling the heavy black cloak from around his broad shoulders. 

He came to stand in front of her, so close she could smell the leather of his jerkin. “Have mine,” he intoned, his warm breath ghosting across her forehead as his arm went over her to drape the heavy material on her shoulders. 

“Won’t you be cold?” she asked as his hands worked the clasp at her clavicle. 

“When did you worry so much about me, huh, sis?” he asked sarcastically, touching her chin once before pulling her long braid out from under cloak.

She smiled sadly in reply, a hint of guilt tugging at her heart. _I was never as good to him as I should have been, foolish girl that I was._ She took his arm where he offered it to her before she could respond, and she let him lead her to supper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dining hall could hardly be called a hall. It was a dark, cramped room not filled with as many men as Sansa expected at first. After hearing of the horrors that had befallen Jon just a few nights past, however, she understood his misgivings about his men. He preferred to eat only with those he could fully trust, at least for now. Sansa could not fault him for that. Brienne and Pod were invited to sup with them, as well as Ser Davos and a tall man named Tormund Giantsbane, as imposing and frightening as his namesake.

Supper had come and gone, a watery meat stew with some loaves of dry, hard bread to sate them. Afterwards, they had retired to sit round a hearth with some tankards, listening to tales of battles long past and other, more lewd stories from the Giantsbane that made even Brienne blush. Eventually, the hour grew late and finally Dolorous Edd bid his good night, leaving Jon and Sansa to themselves before the waning fire. 

The room felt altogether too crowded, ironically. Sansa felt Jon watching her as she supped at her second helping of the stew. She did not understand why, but she felt nervous, a little. Almost excited.

“This is good soup,” she commented, trying to dispel the silence. 

He said nothing.

“Do you remember those kidney pies Old Nan used to make?” she remembered suddenly.

“With the peas and onions?” he replied with a grin, his eyes lighting up at the memory. But the light faded just as quickly as it arrived. 

He looked back at the fire. “We never should have left Winterfell.”

Sansa had thought the same hundreds of times over. In her chambers in Kingslanding, at the Eyrie, even within the walls of Winterfell themselves. “Don’t you wish we could go back to the day we left? I want to scream at myself, _don’t go, you idiot._ ”

“How could we know?” he said, sadness laced in his words.

Sansa swallowed, considering her words and the jape he made earlier to her, about her worrying about him. “I spent a lot of time thinking about how terrible I was to you,” _I was a bastard, too,_ she remembered. “I wish I could change everything-“

“We were children,” Jon reassured, shifting closer to her. 

It made Sansa’s heart skitter. “I was awful, just admit it,” she toyed. 

He chuckled. It was a nice sound. “You were occasionally awful. But I’m sure I can’t have been great, always sulking in the corner while the rest of you played.” 

Sansa grinned at the memory, then summed up all the courage she had.

“Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive-“

“Forgive me,” she demanded, a little forcefully, but it did the trick.

“Alright,” he said, turning to look at her. “Alright, I forgive you.” She smiled at him, watched his face bathed in the glow of the hearth. His eyes were so dark but kind, the way they traveled down the length of her auburn braid and then back to the fire. 

A thought came to her then. She held out her hand, reaching for his tankard. He looked enthused before handing it over to her, a look of curiosity crossing his features.

Then she understood why. “That was awful,” she coughed, to his entertainment. She did not know what she expected. 

He spoke once he got done laughing. “You’d think after thousands of years the Night’s Watch would have learned how to make a good ale.” 

“Mm. I’d grown too accustomed to Arbor Gold. I should lower my standards.” She returned the tankard.

That made him chuckle again. “Since when do you drink?” he asked, taking a sip from the tankard from the same spot her lips had touched. 

Sansa watched him. “I grew up too quickly, perhaps,” she said a little sadly. They were silent for a moment longer before she asked a question of her own.

“Where will you go?” A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, her chest tightening at the idea of having to part from him anytime soon. But she needed to know sooner rather than later. To prepare herself. 

Instead he looked at her again, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “Where will _we_ go,” he corrected. “If I don’t watch over you, father’s ghost will come back and murder me.”

That strange feeling coursed through her once again. _Happiness_. “Where will we go?” she repeated.

“Can’t stay here, not after what happened.”

“There’s only one place we can go,” she insinuated. She looked at him, catching his eyes and hoping that he would see the determination she felt there.

“Home.”

Jon looked incredulous. “Well, should we tell the Boltons to pack up and leave-“

“We’ll take it back from them,” Sansa said sternly.

Jon straightened, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time all over again. “I don’t have an army.”

That was enough for Sansa. He was actually considering it, thinking it through. “How many Wildlings did you save?”

“They didn’t come here to serve me-“

“They owe you their lives, Jon.” She faced him now, her knee brushing against his on the bench they both shared. “You think they’ll be safe here if Roose Bolton remains Warden of the North?”

“Sansa,” he said, saying her name like he was lecturing a child. 

“Jon,” she pushed back, “Winterfell is our home. It’s _ours._ And Arya’s, and Bran’s, and Rickon’s, wherever they are. It belongs to our family and we have to fight for it-“

“I’m tired of fighting,” he bit back harshly. Then he saw the look on her face. He softened. “It’s all I’ve done since I left home,” he explained. “I’ve killed brothers of the Night’s Watch. I’ve killed Wildlings. I’ve killed men that I admire. I hanged a boy younger than Bran.”

The pain in his admission was almost too much for her to take. She reached out to him, her hand finding his wrist. 

He went on. “I fought… and I lost.” 

They sat in silence for a while longer. Sansa let her hand travel from his wrist to his own, lacing her fingers through his. “If we don’t take back the North, we’ll never be safe,” she said, squeezing. “I want you to help me,” she almost begged, “but I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

He turned his head to her, eyes downcast for they were too close. “I’d never let you go alone.”

“Good,” she whispered, letting her hand slip from his. 

But he held her fast, tightening his grip on her. “But we must be smart about this. Think it through, plan everything-“

“Of course,” she reassured. “Every decision, every step. Nothing shall go unplanned.” His breath was close to her cheek. She could tell he was not happy, sulking as he was, but it was all for the best. 

She hoped.

Sansa looked down at where he still gripped her hand. “Will you release me now, brother?”

He turned away from her again, letting her go. “It’s late. You must be longing for sleep.”

A yawn overcame her almost on cue. She was happy to see a smirk turn his lips once again. He stood, showing her his hand. She took it once again into hers, but instead of taking his elbow she held onto his warm hand as he led her to his chambers. She could hardly let him go even once inside the room. It was dark, too dark to see an expression on his face, to gauge his thoughts. 

Her voice came out in a whisper. “Are you sure you have somewhere to sleep?”

“Are you inviting me to stay?”

Sansa froze. _What did he just say?_

He chuckled. “Like when we were children, remember?”

She was altogether too grateful for the cover of darkness now. Her cheeks were flaming hot. Forcing out a soft laugh of her own, Sansa replied. “We are no longer children, sadly…” 

He stood there for a moment not saying anything.

She wished he would say something.

“Good night, Jon,” she said, a hand finding his chest to guide a kiss to his cheek. 

But then his fingers grazed her neck. It raised gooseflesh on her skin before she realized what he was doing. Unclasping his cloak. “Oh, I almost forgot-“ 

“I’ll have a finer one made for you,” he said in a low voice, his arms going around her to retrieve his cloak. “One not so dark. Good night, Sansa.”

Long after, in the late hours of the night, she realized the coverlet that hugged her body smelled of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were seated at their midday meals when a letter arrived for Jon. Sansa recognized the sigil immediately. The flayed man of House Bolton. It turned her stomach at the mere sight.

Her heartbeat quickened as Jon read the contents of the letter out loud to those seated at the table. Ramsay made it all too clear he would stop at nothing to have her back. What was worse yet was that he now had little Rickon trapped in a dungeon. Sansa began to shake a little before Jon stopped mid sentence towards the end of the letter.

“Go on,” she insisted.

He wouldn’t. Instead he stood and retreated to a nearby solar. Sansa stood immediately to follow, closing the door behind her and grabbing the parchment from his hands to see for herself. 

“You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” She let the letter fall, a tear going down her cheek. 

Jon leant over a table, shook his head. “Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North?” 

“His father’s dead,” she said flatly. “Ramsay killed him. And now he has Rickon-“

“We don’t know that-“

“Yes we do,” she urged, going to him and turning him to face her. “You are the son of the last true Warden of the North. The northern families are loyal, they’ll fight for you if you ask.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “A _monster_ has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both. You read what he wrote. He’ll come here anyway, he’ll hurt me-“

Jon grabbed her by her upper arms then, almost roughly. “He’ll die before I ever let him get near you,” he said harshly, anger emanating from him. She believed him, nodding, and he kissed her forehead, pulling her into an embrace. 

She rested her cheek on his chest and just let him hold her, her arms reaching up under his cloak against his back to pull him as close to her as possible. “We can do this, Jon. You and I will take back our home.”

“We will,” he stated. “I’ll do it for Rickon.” He turned down to look at her in his arms. “And for you.” His tone was serious, but he nudged her nose with his, making her smile. “No more tears. You’re safe here.”

Sansa never felt safer, especially being in his arms as she was now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Wilding army was outnumbered two to one by Ramsay’s men, but a small blessing had arrived to restore her faith in this endeavor. And it came in the form of something she never would have expected.

Arryn forces now sailed to Winterfell from up the White Knife in the south, all thanks to Littlefinger. She thought he had abandoned her, sold her to the Bolton’s for his own monetary gain. In truth, she did not know if even this could make her forgive him, but if it would help her gain back Winterfell, it was good for now. _I will deal with Littlefinger later,_ she thought. Now, there were only a few days left before the Night’s Watch and Wildlings rode south themselves.

They supped nightly amongst Jon’s most capable sergeants, discussing strategy and supplies and horses. They would need at least a week’s worth of food to keep them and lots more wool for warmth in the harsh terrain. There was so much to prepare for, and the men were constantly seeking Jon’s approval and opinion for countless matters that she had hardly had a moment alone with him for a week hence. She was glad for the loyalty of his men, though, even if it was borne solely out of fear. He claimed to not be the Lord Commander but they still treated him like he was, thrusting the title upon him against his will. They viewed him as some sort of God, now. Especially rising from the dead as they said he had.

Sansa hurt to even think of it.

Eventually, close to their departure, Sansa finally found herself alone with Jon near the hearth fire once again. Except now she leant against him, her head rested on his shoulder and his heavy arm around her shoulder, black cloak draped over them both. He took a sip from his tankard. It was quiet throughout the keep and especially in this hall now, empty but for the two of them. 

“I wish you would let me ride south with you,” Sansa said, unwilling to part with him so soon after their reunion. 

He squeezed her shoulder. “You know it’s too dangerous. I’ll send for you as soon as it’s safe,” he tried to reassure her.

She turned her face up to his, grazing the soft bristles of his cheek with her nose. “I only feel safe when I’m with you,” she sighed.

He titled his chin down, looking at his cloak on her shoulder, the auburn braid that the fell over it. His fingers came around to twirl the loose end between his fingers. 

“I loved a girl with hair this color, once.” He admitted suddenly. “A wilding. Kissed by fire.”

Sansa was taken aback. “I would have never thought you an oathbreaker, Jon.” She was silent for a short moment. “Where is she now?”

“Gone,” he said, pain evident in his voice. “Killed. By the Night’s Watch.”

Her heart was breaking for him. The tragedy was like something out of her childhood fairy tales, only worse. She brought an arm around his torso, hugging him. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say to console him.

His hand came to wrap around her forearm at his torso. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago. Besides,” he tugged a little at the braid on her shoulder, “I have you to love, now. Also kissed by fire.”

His words elicited a warmth in her chest and throughout her body. She loved him, too. Dearly. 

They sat together for a while after until finally his hand came down to nudge her at her waist, signaling to her that it was indeed time for bed.

He escorted her all the way back to his chambers, which he still let her use after all this time.

“Get some rest,” he said, placing a hand over the one she had on his elbow. “And don’t worry about me any more.”

He made to drop his arm, but Sansa stayed him. 

“You should stay,” she whispered, to her very own surprise. 

It was too dark to see his face, to get his reaction. He was silent for a long while, too long, and she almost rescinded her invitation before he finally spoke.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, voice low.

Sansa shook her head before realizing he probably couldn’t see her either. “No,” she assured, “no, it’s fine-“

“Tell me you’re afraid,” Jon corrected, close to her.

She said nothing for a moment, their breaths intermingling. Then she finally understood.

“Yes,” she lied, pulling him by his hand into the chamber. “I’m afraid and you should stay with me.”

She could almost feel the tension in his muscles. But he stepped closer, closing the door behind him. 

Sansa felt her heart flutter. “If anyone were to know-“

“What is there to know?” Jon asked. “We are family. We protect one another.”

He pulled her close to him, kissing her forehead, then her cheek. Then her lips. Chaste. Innocent. Sansa decided not to make too much of it, despite how her heart yearned for another. She removed herself from his arms reluctantly, walking around the large featherbed to retrieve her nightshift, lighting a small candle along the way. She heard him removing his cloak and jerkin and boots. As she changed behind a curtain, she also heard him pull the coverlet aside and slip into his featherbed. When Sansa reemerged, she found him already comfortable and his hair loosened out of its ties, dark waves going almost past his shoulder. His bare shoulder. 

Sansa stepped closer, almost quickly. The chill of the Wall penetrated the walls of Castle Black so much so she needed to get under the warm coverlet as soon as possible. Or at least that’s what she told herself. 

He laughed softly as she gathered the blankets close to her person, rolling to his side to rub her arm as if to provide her extra warmth. Sansa boldly wrapped her arm around his waist from beneath the coverlet, longing to be as close to him as was appropriate but not wanting to breach his comfort at the same time. 

He did not seem to care either way. “I wish you’d been afraid sooner.” 

“Maybe you should have gone to war sooner,” Sansa countered, excited for reasons she did not understand. “I don’t mean that. I wish it never had to come to this.”

He brought his hand up to touch her braid, pulling out the clasp that held it together. Her auburn waves loosened out of their confines. Then his hand went beneath the coverlet and around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “Me too, but I have you to fight for.”

His body was all warmth and hard muscle against her. She hoped the light of the small candle concealed the blush she was sure was streaking her features now. 

“Promise me you’ll send for me,” she said, fingers going to slide through the hair at his nape.

He exhaled deeply, kissed her forehead once more. “I promise.” Then he kissed her lips again. 

And again. 

Then he stopped. Unmoving, stone-like. Almost… _waiting?_

A kiss, this time of her own doing. This time, lingering. His full lower lip between her own. Breathing hard, pulling him in by the back of his neck, losing count of the kisses. His warm hand slid around her waist to the small of her back, pressing into her. She parted her lips.

Then he pulled away from her, chest heaving. 

“ _Jon,_ ” Sansa called, almost desperate. “Jon, it’s alright.” 

“Sansa, we shouldn’t-“

“It’s alright,” she said sternly, tilting his face to look at her, making him listen. “Just hold me.”

Slowly, achingly, he moved into her embrace once more. Into her kiss. She found his hand and replaced it at the small of her back.

“ _Why_ ,” he sighed between kisses, almost inaudibly. 

“Why what?” Sansa asked, almost in a daze.

His fist clenched with the fabric of her nightgown “Why does this feel so natural? So good?”

“Because it is,” Sansa whispered, her chest tightening. “You’re the only one who makes me feel safe.”

He caught her lips with his own again, finally. Her hand came down to the warmth of his bare chest, sliding against the scars of his men’s betrayal.

“Does it hurt?”

He pulled her hand from his chest, putting it back around his neck. 

“You hurt,” he said hoarsely, taking her bottom lip between his teeth.

Sansa gasped and fought the laugh that rose from her throat, going to smother it in his warm mouth instead. This time, when she parted her lips, he tasted her, his sweet tongue finding her lip, then her own. She tasted him, too, and it sent her body to an ache that was almost unbearable to stand. It became almost hard to breath between his lips and his kisses and his tongue. His hand still gripped at her shift, bunching more and more fabric into his fist. “ _Sansa-_ ”

“ _Yes,_ ” she hissed, her grip in his hair almost painfully tight now, his lips swollen from her attention.

The hem of her shift was well above her waist now, his strong hand flat on her rib cage, his thumb teasing the underside of her breast. _Gods,_ did it feel so good.

“Jon…” she pleaded. He understood.

Keeping her lips on his, he drew his hand beneath her shift to rest on the bare skin of her rib cage. He was trembling, a little. Sansa brought her own shaking hand down to his, pulling it up to cover her soft breast. His breath hitched with hers, his head going to the crook of her neck to plant more kisses there. Sansa squeezed the hand on her breast reassuringly. Eventually he was doing it on his own, even going to roll her hard nipple between thumb and forefinger. Sansa sucked in a breath at the sweet pain. At that, his lips moved from her neck to her breast, kissing the soft flesh around her nipple before taking it into his mouth, between his teeth.

“ _oh, Jon…_ ” She threaded her hands through his hair, pressing his mouth into her breast lest he have any second thoughts. But she knew he wasn’t going anywhere, especially not now that his hand traveled from her breast to her spine to grip her bottom over her small clothes, then down to her thigh to hitch her leg over his hip, all the while keeping her nipple in his mouth.

He was sliding lower on her by the minute, agonizingly slow, kissing between her rib cage, leaving a wet trail all the way down her navel and lower still.

“Jon, what-“

“Be quiet,” he commanded, beginning to pull down her small clothes.

Sansa flushed hotly with desire, not knowing what he was planning on doing to her, the mystery alone enflaming her. Once he got her smallclothes off, he nudged her thigh aside, going to leave soft kisses along the inside.

Sansa could not contain a heady exhale. He bit down gently at the juncture between her thigh and her cunt. His fingers came up to spread her wetness and then her lips and Sansa quickly covered her mouth before moaning her pleasure. Then she felt something soft and wet at her apex that almost made her scream.

She looked down in shock to find Jon’s mouth set on her cunt, his tongue working her little pearl, his fingers probing gently inside of her, asking to be let in. Sansa was whimpering, unknowingly wrapping her thighs around his head, desperate for him to keep going. He did not fail her. He sucked on her nub and then tongued her roughly for a few more moments that were all it took for her to find bliss, moaning his name almost too loudly.

He was at her side before she was done gasping. His beard glistened with her wetness. Sansa moved above him, not ready to let him go just yet, tasting herself on his lips as she went to kiss him. Her hand slid down his torso, finding it dampened with sweat. 

He caught her wrist in his grip. “You don’t have to-“

“But I want to,” Sansa insisted, straddling him and finding his hardness as she said so. He sucked in a breath, hands tightening at her hips. He was thick, throbbing in her grip. She quickly unlaced his breeches, pulling them down only just enough. His hand went up to pull her nightshift completely off of her, finally, sitting up to catch her breast in his mouth once again.

She felt his cock teasing her entrance, hard and smooth all at once. She lowered herself onto him, holding their breaths together as she did so. He stretched her so blissfully, so achingly good. He found her blue eyes when he was finally sheathed inside of her. “You can't go anywhere, now,” he intoned. “You’re mine.”

He pulled her down on him, letting her rest her weight on his chest while he began to thrust himself into her, slowly at first, then faster. One strong arm held her tightly against him, the other hand threading through her hair. It was exquisite, the way he rolled his hips into her just so, her hand gripping his full dark hair, her lips finding his neck as he whispered harsh obscenities into her ear. Pounding into her, she met his thrusts with equal vigor until they were both gasping, glistening with perspiration.

“You’re _mine_ ,” he repeated, “ _All mine_.”


End file.
